


I'll Think About Tomorrow If I Can Get Through Tonight

by asparkofgoodness



Series: Whumptober 2019 [4]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Blood and Violence, First Kiss, Hurt Aziraphale (Good Omens), Hurt/Comfort, Knife Wounds, M/M, Promises, Protective Crowley, Recovery, Secret Injury, Unconscious, shackled
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2019-10-14
Packaged: 2020-12-16 06:34:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21031814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asparkofgoodness/pseuds/asparkofgoodness
Summary: "Rain pounded like fists on the shop’s windows.  The shelves and stacks of books sat in silent darkness, the sign on the door turned to 'Closed.'  Suddenly, with a small popping noise, Aziraphale appeared, breathing heavily.  After glancing around, lights clicking on all at once in every room, he let his eyes fall closed with a tremulous exhale.  He was safe.  The steady patter of the rain masked the sound of thick golden droplets falling from his left sleeve onto the threadbare carpet.  His hands shook."Trouble finds Aziraphale while he's outside of the protective circle of London and Crowley's company.  Fearing Crowley would put himself in harm's way if he knew what happened, Aziraphale tries to recover on his own.(This is a standalone story that is part of my Whumptober 2019 collection.)





	I'll Think About Tomorrow If I Can Get Through Tonight

Rain pounded like fists on the shop’s windows.The shelves and stacks of books sat in silent darkness, the sign on the door turned to “Closed.”Suddenly, with a small popping noise, Aziraphale appeared, breathing heavily.After glancing around, lights clicking on all at once in every room, he let his eyes fall closed with a tremulous exhale.He was safe.The steady patter of the rain masked the sound of thick golden droplets falling from his left sleeve onto the threadbare carpet.His hands shook.A minute passed.

Eventually, he stepped over to his coatrack and shrugged his jacket off of one shoulder, then gingerly tugged the other sleeve until it slid off his arm.He winced at the sight of the long tear in the blue fabric, running from elbow to wrist, encircled by a dark stain with spreading edges.With a sigh, he took off his waistcoat and miracled away the ruined shirt, deeming it a lost cause.He sat down stiffly on the edge of his armchair.Down the inside of his left arm ran a long, thin cut; he frowned, studying the golden blood flowing from it.“Not good,” he muttered to himself, “but it could have been much worse.”He knew, but couldn’t see, that a matching wound sliced its way across his collarbone and down his chest a few inches.Both burned. 

His breath was slowing, evening out, but adrenaline still hummed through his veins and he could not shake the feeling of the blade that had dragged its way across his skin and left these marks.Desperately, he wanted to call Crowley, to hear the comforting coolness of his voice, but he couldn’t let Crowley see him like this.He had saved himself, and he would heal himself, too.If Crowley knew what had happened – well, he couldn’t find out.

Closing his eyes, he laid his fingertips gently on the wound and summoned up healing energy from within him.His skin tingled, but the edges of the cut did not draw together as they should have.Nothing happened.“That’s odd.”Brows furrowed, he tried again: nothing.He thought back to the knife, searching his memory for signs that the blade had been more than simple metal.It had appeared ordinary, though the hands wielding it hadn’t been.For the first time since the averted apocalypse, he wished he could speak to fellow angels.A cut that he could not heal… With a snap, he dressed the wounds, aiming to at least stop the loss of blood.He had time, albeit not an infinite amount, to find the answer.He walked over to his desk, picked up a dusty volume, and began to read.

* * *

“I have to go, Crowley.”

“You don’t _have _to do anything, angel.Not anymore.”Long frame draped across Aziraphale’s couch, Crowley was trying very hard to appear indifferent to the news he had just received.The dark glasses helped.

“I may no longer receive orders, but I am still an angel, and I must do what I can to help when humans are suffering.”In between sentences, Aziraphale sipped tea from his white mug.“I’ve been inactive for far too long.It’s time I made myself useful.”

Crowley gave a low, dissatisfied noise and turned his head away, apparently staring at the back of the couch or the wall.Aziraphale couldn’t help but smile at how obviously he did not want him to leave.“I will only be gone for a week, at most.Tend to your plants, listen to a few records, cause a spot of mayhem, and I will be back before you even notice I am gone.”

They both knew that last part to be untrue, though neither would admit it.They had barely spent more than a day apart since their world almost came to an end, but there had been no unburdening of feelings, no fevered embraces: just a slow tilt inward, toward the other, one quarter-inch at a time.Since the prerequisite confessions had not yet happened, Crowley could not protest Aziraphale’s departure with anything close to _“I love you, don’t go.”_Somehow, Aziraphale knew anyway, but in the aimlessness of life without Heavenly direction, he needed a mission to give him purpose again.

“I can help them, and I have to… to know I can still do good, help those in need.”

Crowley made a quiet hum that sounded to Aziraphale like reluctantly-admitted understanding.

“One week, if that, and then, once I return, we should have that picnic that you mentioned last week.Before the weather gets any nastier.”

A moment of silence passed, and then Crowley spoke without turning his head.“May not be a park to picnic in when you finally return.You’re abandoning the city to unchecked demonic forces, after all.”

Aziraphale hid a fond smile behind his mug.“Do spare the water fowl, at the very least.Innocent creatures, you know.”

“No promises.”

* * *

In spite of his sense of urgency, Aziraphale could barely keep his eyes open as he read.Mind foggy, all the words were blurring together, leaving his thoughts a tangled mess._There was something in this one about cursing weapons, I know it, _he thought in frustration.He turned the pages with one hand, his left arm pulled protectively to his chest.The long lines of the cuts burned constantly, but he tried his best to ignore the ache and focus on the words in front of him.

* * *

Compared to London, Italy felt oppressively hot.Even at night, with the windows of the old school building mostly shattered and a breeze flowing through the room, the air was warm and heavy.Since the closure of the local center, many refugees had taken shelter in abandoned buildings like this one.Others lived on the streets or hid in farmers’ fields.Aziraphale wandered from settlement to settlement, pretending to be a volunteer with an aid organization.He brought food and supplies, listened to the stories of the people who would speak with him, and performed minor miracles of comfort.Days after he left, the people there would discover they had been granted temporary humanitarian protection status.

In the remains of a classroom, Aziraphale knelt in front of a tattered mattress.“All better,” he said as he lightly touched a young girl’s finger, bones moving back into place.

She grinned, and her mother pulled her close and gave Aziraphale a nod of thanks.He tipped his hat, stood, and walked through the maze of blankets and sleeping figures to the door.Before leaving, he silently blessed the poor souls taking refuge here.That night, they all dreamt of happier days, and in the morning, they felt more peaceful than they had in months.Aziraphale wished he could do more – construct homes, forge citizenship papers, bring back their loved ones who had died in the war or in the sea – but at least he could do something.After a few more days here, he would head to Greece, and then home.

As he stepped out into the dark maze of run-down buildings and winding streets, he wondered how Crowley was getting on without him.In the millennia of chance encounters and rare meetings, he had never felt alone without Crowley.He may have thought of him more than he should have, hoped to run into him for reasons beyond thwarting his evil deeds, but being on his own was ordinary.Now, Aziraphale felt alone.

A man at the school had told him a group of other refugees were taking shelter under a bridge a few streets away.Heading in that direction, lost in thoughts of Crowley’s growing presence in his life, Aziraphale failed to notice the figures hiding in the darkness of the alley he was passing.He didn’t hear them fall in step behind him.He sensed nothing sinister until he felt heat encircle his right wrist and hands grab his shoulders.Startled, he tried to shout, but cloth filled his open mouth, a gag tied behind his head.

Aziraphale could fight.After all, he had been a soldier, long ago.He hated violence and avoided it at all costs, but the knowledge of how to take down an enemy slept, dormant, in his core.At this threat, it woke.He pulled himself out of the grasp of the hands on his shoulder and turned, ethereal energy rippling through him.Three men stood in the darkened street, momentarily stunned.Two had knives in their hands.Aziraphale did not recognize them, thankfully.No real threat, then.

He pulled the gag from his mouth with one hand.“Aid may be scarce here, but that is no excuse to resort to violence and theft.”

“We don’t need aid,” one of the men said, stepping closer.“I think you’ll find we have things under control, angel.”

Aziraphale’s eyes narrowed at that last word, hating the sound of it now on anyone’s tongue but Crowley’s, realizing he might be in more trouble than he had assumed.“Demons, then?”They looked very human, but no human would call him that.“I don’t want to have to hurt anyone, and you all know I am capable of it, so if you don’t mind, I’m going to continue on my way.”

They were inching closer as he spoke, and despite his brave words, Aziraphale grew nervous.The one who had spoken earlier said, “You’re not going anywhere,” holding his knife in front of him, and Aziraphale decided a weapon of his own may be in order.He thought to manifest a sword, but his hand remained empty.He tried again.Nothing appeared.One of the demons chuckled at his confusion.Then, he looked down and noticed the source of the heat he felt around his wrist: a metal shackle, glowing sigils carved around it.

As the severity of his situation set in, fear winding around the pit of his stomach and constricting, one of the demons flicked his hand and the chain jumped, clasping around Aziraphale’s other wrist, too.He turned to run, but rough hands stopped him, pulling him into the dark cover of an alleyway.Every instinctual response he had required using the power that was trapped within his corporation by the shackles.He managed one cry for help before they replaced the gag over his mouth, but he knew shouting was futile: the only one who could save him was a thousand miles away.They had no reason to suspect a threat from Hell.They were supposed to have scared them off, won some well-deserved peace for themselves.

The question of why hovered in Aziraphale’s mind as they shoved him back against a wall.Unable to brace himself with his hands chained in front of him, his head hit brick, and he blinked slowly to clear his vision.What could they want from him?He watched as they grinned at each other and walked closer.He looked down at his shackled hands and recalled the last time he had stood in front of demons, powerless, hands restrained: Crowley’s trial, in Hell.Flashes of the terror of that day overwhelmed him.The uncertainty of the mechanics of trading corporations.The fear of slipping up, revealing the ruse and damning them both.The worry that putting an angel in a demon’s body might not actually make holy water harmless.Underneath it all, the knowledge that the last time he had seen Crowley might actually be the last time.All the unsaid words, just waiting for the freedom to be voiced, dying inside them, never heard. 

Memories of that day paralyzed Aziraphale.He barely registered the demons speaking to him, holding up their knives threateningly, waiting for reactions he didn’t know he was supposed to give.When he didn’t respond to some question they asked, their apparent leader pressed the tip of his knife to Aziraphale’s throat, and the pain brought his attention back to the present. 

“I need an answer,” the demon said.Aziraphale realized the gag had been removed from his mouth, but without knowing the question, he couldn’t respond.“Alright, then,” and his eyes darted from left to right.Aziraphale felt hands take hold of each of his shoulders, pinning him against the wall.The knife trailed lightly down his neck to his collarbone, bowtie untying itself, collar unbuttoning as the demon moved.“Let’s see if we can convince you to tell us.”And the knife dug in, dragging across his chest with a searing pressure.Aziraphale clenched his teeth and bit back a cry of pain.

* * *

While Aziraphale was off rediscovering his noble sense of purpose, Crowley was busy realizing he didn’t have much of one anymore.As he crossed the street, he momentarily contemplated shutting down the power to the intersection.He could picture the chaos that would ensue, the arguments between motorists who didn’t actually know the rules of the road and relied on lights and signals to keep order.It would amuse him, and it would mean he had accomplished something with his day, but he wouldn’t report it.No one expected his report anymore.Aziraphale could tell himself that doing good was good, regardless of who noticed you doing it, but evil just didn’t seem to work the same way.What’s the point, to push people to make the choices that nudged their souls a little closer to eternal torment?Crowley was a demon, but he wasn’t cruel.Better to just leave the traffic lights as they were and let the humans go on making whatever decisions they would make.

With nothing else to do, and finding himself missing Aziraphale even more than he anticipated, Crowley took the stairs to the shop two at a time, unlocked the door with a flick of his hand, and closed the doors behind him.Embarrassing, hanging around the angel’s place just waiting for him to return, but he didn’t need to know Crowley was ever there.Except, “Wha- Aziraphale?Back already?” 

Aziraphale sat at his desk, back turned to Crowley.His hair looked wildly out of place, and he was wearing a dress shirt just a shade off from his usual blue.“Oh, Crowley, hello,” he said without turning, and he sounded tired.Crowley, head tilting in confusion, walked quickly over to him, heart racing.

“Rough trip?” Crowley asked, trying to sound casual, but when he leaned back on the corner of Aziraphale’s desk and took in the sight of him, his face gave away his worry.“What happened?”

Aziraphale took off his reading glasses and attempted a smile.“I’m fine, just a bit worn out from my travels.”He shifted his left arm a little to make sure it was out of Crowley’s sight, hidden by the desk.“Get into sufficient trouble while I was away?”

“Loads,” Crowley answered automatically, eyes searching Aziraphale’s face suspiciously.“Kept plenty busy.Look,” he paused, considering not saying anything before pressing on anyway, “you possessed a human without getting so much as a hair out of place.I don’t believe a few days of miracling canned goods into existence would do this to you.”Crowley waited with a fraction of his usual patience, a knot of worry in his gut.

Aziraphale normally relished when Crowley showed his kind, thoughtful side, but in this moment, he really needed Crowley to believe him and go home.He had apparently fallen asleep on his book sometime during the night; he hadn’t even been conscious when Crowley had arrived.He still needed a solution, and he couldn’t find one with Crowley right there.So, despite the throbbing pain in his arm and chest, despite how muddled his mind was, he put on his most convincing smile and said, “I really am fine, dear.It is kind of you, however, to show such concern for –“

“Nope, not going to work this time, angel.”Crowley, eyes narrowed, leaned forward.“What’s with the shirt?You’ve worn that other one for ages now,” and he reached out a hand to touch the collar.Aziraphale pushed back in his chair, trying to move out of reach, and winced at the pain that shot through his whole left side.“Ah, there, knew it.”A mix of anger and concern on his face, Crowley fell to his knees and waved Aziraphale’s shirt open to reveal the bandage on his collarbone.“Tell me what happened,” he said forcefully.

Aziraphale sighed.“It was nothing.A little run-in with a young man with a knife.I handled it.”He watched as Crowley pushed his glasses up into his hair and started to peel away the tape and gauze.“Just– Crowley, please, it should stay covered so it can–“

A sharp inhale, and Crowley’s yellow eyes grew wide.“For Heaven’s sake, Aziraphale,” he said, voice deadly serious, “if you don’t tell me exactly what and who did this to you…”He trailed off, a finger gently reaching out to touch the blackened blood vessels that bloomed from the cut in all directions.

“Oh, it didn’t look quite that dreadful last night.Hm.Okay.”Aziraphale took a shaky breath.“It was my third night in Italy,” he started.

* * *

Warmth was spreading over Aziraphale’s chest as blood flowed from the knife wound.The demon, seemingly enjoying the pain he read on Aziraphale’s face, laughed.“So you’re not untouchable after all.”His face was so close to Aziraphale’s that he could smell smoke on his breath.“Good.Very good.”He took a step back and wiped his knife on his pants.“See, we’d heard you were indestructible.Most of our lot is too scared to even talk about you or that sunglass-wearing moron that follows you around.”

_They must be young, _Aziraphale thought.Too confident, too bold to have spent much time in Hell’s bleak bureaucracy._The hubris of youth.Icarus.Wax wings, too close to the sun._Wheels were coming unstuck, starting to turn in Aziraphale’s mind.

“Imagine what they’ll say when we drag you down there, show them what we’ve done.”The demon tapped the metal cuff around Aziraphale’s wrist with the knife.“Can’t fight back with these on.Can’t heal yourself.”He slid the knife point to Aziraphale’s wrist and pushed it in to the thin skin there.Aziraphale winced.“You feel that, don’t you?They walked you into Hellfire and nothing, didn’t even feel the heat, but this…”With a gesture, the sleeve of Aziraphale’s coat folded up.“When you can’t use your powers…”He lifted the knife and gave a hungry grin.“You’re just another cowardly angel who can’t handle a bit of pain.”Aziraphale looked away and tried to keep his face still as the knife point pierced his shirt sleeve, bit into his wrist and slid slowly upward._Breathe.Don’t look.Think of anything else. _

He closed his eyes and thought of dinner, days ago, after he’d told Crowley of his trip.How Crowley had stretched out the meal with dessert and glass after glass of wine.How he had lingered by the door of the shop, not coming in but not leaving either.How his face had flushed when Aziraphale had laid a hand on his shoulder and said he’d miss him and would see him soon.

If he wanted to keep that promise, he needed a way out, and by this point, it was clear Crowley wasn’t swooping in to save the day for him.No matter.Soldiers, regardless of how much time has passed since they’ve stepped foot on a battlefield, never lose their sense of timing.Even with his eyes closed, Aziraphale knew the demon would look to his accomplice when Aziraphale tugged his right arm out of his grip.He knew the knife would slip, and if he lifted his hands just so, it would hit the crack he had noticed in the lefthand cuff, scratching the surface.He knew, then, that it would only take one quick collision of metal against brick to crack it further, breaking the ancient pattern of demonic sigils. The young demons had been too confident, too rash to check the old shackles. With the pattern broken, Aziraphale could release his pent-up energy.The burst of light shone bright enough to be seen from high windows all across the city.

When the alleyway returned to darkness, Aziraphale stood alone.He took a few shallow breaths.He snapped his fingers and his shirt was re-buttoned, his tie retied.As soon as he was sure no one was watching, he closed his eyes and thought of home.

* * *

As Aziraphale recounted the story of what had happened to him, Crowley choked back angry and bitter words._This is why you shouldn’t have gone.This is why you shouldn’t have been alone.This is why we shouldn’t have let our guard down.Of course we’re not safe._Fury clouded his vision when he heard demons were responsible.He jumped to standing and started to pace.“Names.Who were they?”

“I don’t know.It’s not as if they introduced themselves.I hadn’t seen them before.It’s not important, Crowley.They’re gone.”

He paused.“Gone where?”

“I… don’t know.I sent them away.”

“Not obliterated, then.Not good enough.”

“They won’t come back.”

“You can’t know that.”His hands were clenched so tightly that his nails dug into his palms.He looked at Aziraphale’s tired face and reminded himself there was something much more pressing than revenge.“Fine.Continue.”

Aziraphale finished explaining.When he came to the part about his arm, Crowley returned to his side, rolled up his sleeve, and uncovered that wound, too.It also had blackened around the edges, as if something was spreading from the blade’s contact.Crowley, eyes betraying his stress, paled at the sight.

As soon as Aziraphale finished talking, Crowley stood and held out his hand.“C’mon.Couch.You should lie down.”

Aziraphale shook his head.“I’m fine here.I need to keep looking.”He gestured toward the books on his desk.“One of these mentions demonic blades, if I recall correctly.”

Rolling his eyes, Crowley waved his hand at Aziraphale.“You’re not in any state to be reading.Couch.”

“For goodness’ sake,” Aziraphale sighed, but he started to stand.“It stings a little but it’s not…”He swayed on his feet, the room suddenly spinning around him.Crowley grabbed his good arm and steadied him.“Thank you,” he muttered as Crowley led him over to the couch.

Once he laid down, Crowley kneeled next to him on the floor and pulled his shirt open enough to see the chest wound properly.“Feels warm,” Crowley said to himself.He touched the skin next to the cut.“You should be able to heal anything… except Hellfire, but this wasn’t…You’re sure the knife didn’t have any marks on it?”

“Not that I saw.”Aziraphale let his eyes fall closed, comforted by Crowley’s attention.Beads of sweat dotted his forehead.“It looked ordinary.”

Thinking, Crowley gently set his hand over the cut.“Feels like a burn, almost.”Visions of bladesmiths forging longswords slid into the forefront of his mind.“It _is_ Hellfire,” he said, excited to know the cause and then immediately terrified of what it meant.“Must be.They used it to make the knives, or heated them with it, something.I can feel it.”

Without opening his eyes, Aziraphale raised his eyebrows.“Makes sense, I suppose.As you said, anything else would have healed by now.”

“Angel, this is…”He swallowed.“You… I can help, I think.I’ll try.It may hurt.”

“I trust you,” and Aziraphale placed his hand over Crowley’s where it rested on his chest.

Crowley’s mouth opened but no words came to his stunned mind.He shook himself and closed his eyes, too.This had to work.He had never healed an angel before, but he had been one, once; his wings had been white before Hellfire had burned them.It should be as simple as calling that darkness back to him, out of Aziraphale’s veins and into his own.

A whimper from Aziraphale.Crowley clenched his teeth and pushed on.His fingertips grew warmer, started to tingle.Aziraphale shifted uncomfortably, breathing uneven and quick._Come on, out, _Crowley begged, knowing if he couldn’t pull the fire from him, he would lose him, and that loss would consume Crowley, too.That much had been proven the last time he thought he’d lost Aziraphale to fire._Come on_, and it came, burning up his fingers into his hands, then dissipating.Aziraphale groaned in pain and then fell quiet.Crowley’s eyes flew open.“Aziraphale?”He kept his hand in place, still pulling the heat from the wound, but Aziraphale’s limply slid off of his.“Aziraphale?Can you hear me?”No answer, but he could feel a heartbeat under his palm.Fast, but present.Just unconscious, then.

When Crowley finished with the first wound, he moved on to the second, watching Aziraphale’s chest rise and fall as he worked.In the end, neither wound felt warm to his touch anymore, and Aziraphale’s heart slowed to a normal rhythm.Sure no Hellfire remained, he stitched the cuts with a wave of his hand and let his heavy head fall forward onto the couch’s soft surface.

* * *

He woke to fingers moving gently through his hair.He kept his eyes closed for a moment longer, enjoying the sensation, until the events of the previous night came flooding back and he jerked upright.Somehow, he still sat next to Aziraphale on the floor; the couch must have held him in place as he slept.Aziraphale, smiling a little, was pulling his hand back to him.“Morning,” he said.“Or, well, it may technically be afternoon now.I can’t see the clock from here.”

Crowley looked questioningly at him, noticing the color had returned to his cheeks.“I feel much better.”He started to unbutton Aziraphale’s shirt, but Aziraphale stopped his hand.“I finished your work this morning when I woke.All healed, now, thanks to you.”As if he didn’t understand, Crowley stared at him for a second, then continued to struggle with his buttons.“Do you not believe me?”Aziraphale snapped his shirt open so Crowley could see the unblemished skin there.“See?”

Relief swept over Crowley’s face.With grateful reverence, he skimmed fingertips over the area where the wound had been and noticed Aziraphale’s breath catch, his face flush.It hit Crowley then, the foreign, unintentional intimacy of the moment, his hand hovering over Aziraphale’s bare chest.Age-old reminders about boundaries, speed, rules and punishments rushed to his consciousness.He withdrew his hand with the speed of someone who had held a lit match a second too long.

As he started to stand, seeking to put back the distance normally between them, Aziraphale stopped him with a hand on his cheek.Fingers on the back of his neck held him in place; a thumb swept over his jaw.“You saved my life,” Aziraphale said.“Again.Your power and your cleverness astound me every time.”Crowley, like one staring into the sun, was overwhelmed by the admiration in Aziraphale’s eyes and had to look away.“Before you say it, yes, I should have told you right away.I had hoped to avoid frightening you, and I worried you would try to go after them if you knew.”At that, Crowley’s eyes snapped back to Aziraphale’s.“You can’t.You must promise me you won’t.”

“I–"

“Crowley, please.”

“If I don’t take care of them and they come back–"

Aziraphale withdrew his hand nervously.“Then we’ll handle them then, but seeking them out is foolish and you know it.”

Unwilling to admit it, Crowley narrowed his eyes and said nothing.

In that silence, Aziraphale realized what he’d have to concede to earn Crowley’s surrender.He had said it a hundred times already, in other words, in gestures and glances and questions, but not like this, never like this as it would have meant destruction for them both.Now, Aziraphale could see only salvation in the confession, so he searched deep within himself for where he had hidden those words away and dragged them up into the air at last. 

“I love you.You know I do.I have, for such a long time.”His hands trembled, though there was strength behind his words.Crowley stared at him, not breathing, unblinking.“And now, finally, we are able to speak openly, to spend time together without worrying who will take notice.I am asking you not to jeopardize that by putting yourself in harm’s way.Please.It was all I could think of in that alley, how I had counted on more time with you and how I might not get it–”

Crowley silenced him with a light press of lips.After a stunned second, Aziraphale returned the kiss, cradling Crowley’s face in his hands.Immortal as they were, he had learned that forever was not guaranteed.Still, the kiss felt like a vow of tomorrows, that whatever time they had would not be wasted in silent doubt or reckless action.When Crowley finally broke the kiss, he only pulled back far enough to say “I promise” and see the hopeful smile dawn on Aziraphale’s face. 

When he returned his lips to Aziraphale’s, it was to promise more._I won’t go after them, _the kiss pledged._I won’t waste a minute of this _fluttered in the desperate tangle of his fingers in Aziraphale’s hair._I will stay right here _threaded through the moan that escaped him when Aziraphale took hold of his tie and pulled._I will save you, every time _lay in the force with which he took Aziraphale’s hand and interlaced their fingers, bringing palm to palm.He promised until his mind lost hold of any word except Aziraphale’s name, and even then, his name sounded like a covenant on Crowley’s lips, guaranteeing more days spent like this, safely in each other’s arms, holding nothing back.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Leave a kudos/comment if you enjoyed it, and follow me on Tumblr as [thetunewillcome](https://thetunewillcome.tumblr.com/) for more _Good Omens_ stories.
> 
> The title comes from "Can We Hang On?" by Cold War Kids.
> 
> For a multitude of Whumptober 2019 prompts: stab wound, shackled, unconscious, trembling, muffled scream, secret injury, stitches, adrenaline, recovery, embrace


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